


Omnia munda mundis

by AmyLerajie



Series: Dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, References to Depression, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 09:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyLerajie/pseuds/AmyLerajie
Summary: All is pure to the eye of innocents, even tired and broken at they stand.





	Omnia munda mundis

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 Prompt: Ardyn stalks and toys with Prompto during the World of Ruin  
> I, being the non-english writer that I am, interpreted the prompt in a lighter way than intended.

The fact is, it's been four years and five months and Prompto is sick of it since day one.

At first he tried to spend more time with Gladio, killing daemons, laying the horrific nidi that the Eternal Night brought upon Eos. He had met with Ignis, too, but the Advisor was now in full archaeologist mode for most of the time, receiving more help from Talcott than anybody else. It was more and more rare to see him in Lestallum or the Northduscaen Blockade ad he had been before.

In the first six or seven months of darkness, the three of them used to spend most of the time trying to build some sort of resistance against it, be it by distributing light in the continent or physically building barricades for the survivors. It was all about saving people, at the time.

Prompto never felt like a hero, though.

It was, in all honesty, just depressing, for the most part, being left without his best friend barely days after promising so much to each other and finding out that he wasn't that useful, after all.

That's how he ended up fighting alone, trying to better himself, to get ready for Noctis' return. And that's coincidentally, how it all began. The stalking problem.

Truth is, Prompto is not sure of why the man started to forcefully accompaign him on his journey. He can think of boredom or the basic want to see him dead or suffering, but he is aware that this is not the full truth. It feels like it didn't really started after the Eternal Night began, though, but well before and he is not sure of how he will get rid of this nuisance.

He is not even sure he does really want to put an end to it.

It's not that bad, it's weirdly exciting, at times, to toy back at the stalking Chancellor of a defunct Nifleheim Empire, to push himself to the limit, in the arms of certain death, sometimes, just to see the man reaction. That's how he began to come back to Insomnia -his own territory, one could say- and push forward to the citadel. Nagas, Flans, weird samurais and old testimonies of the Empire long lost strength to fight alone, desperate to become stronger, but even more desperate to test Ardyn's limit when Prompto collapses in front of the enemies, exhausted, smiling in victory even though all he can see is the purplish pink of the man's Armiger.

Those times are almost exhilarating. Prompto lies on the pavement and he doesn't even have the strength to open his eyes, only half conscious, but he is saved and the older -much older- man stalking voice tries so hard to sound wittier than worried that he can almost daydream that he truly cares.

There are times when Prompto doesn't want to be saved and curses the fall of humanity. Ardyn, as the old man he is, could better be spending his days supervising construction sites, in that case and not following around like an old and battered dog.

These are the days that Prompto spends sitting on a rock around a haven, shooting at goblins just because he hates the noise, he hates those little feet stomping the ground and he hates the stupid ground, too. He desperately misses Noctis and would rather be sleeping all day in the freezing tent than hearing a single sound.

And lately there have been more and more days like this and not knowing exactly when Noctis will be back is exhausting as it is, the absence of sun for so long can only contribute to his sour mood.

“The noise will attract more of them.”

And now this. Him. He is the reason of the darkness and the loss. That's what most people think, anyway. Raptor of Kings and Light, they call him and some other less elaborate names, with his stupid hat and his stupid hair and stupid grandmother shawl. That one he can't really get used to, it makes Prompto chuckle every time.

“I tried ignoring them all day but they keep following me. Are you daemons all the same? Is stalking a hobby in Daemonland?” he asks, facing him, the gun pointed at him. The man doesn't even flinch, of course.

“I assume you had a tiring day and proceed to ignore your rudeness.” the Chancellor whispers, two fingers on the barrel of the gun as he point it away from his face.

“And here I was actively trying to offend you.” the man snickers, moving aside to let the older one sit next to him.

Killing him would be a waste of bullets. Even though lately Prompto can afford to kill Goblins for fun, since he started crafting his own ammunition, Ardyn Izunia is immortal.

It takes exactly 30 seconds for him to come back to life, not enough to waste a bullet.

Prompto knows it's a constant number because he once spent one full hour and a whole lot of bullets experimenting on it. He was really pissed.

Ardyn almost stabbed him, afterwards and honestly, in after thought, Prompto wouldn't have blamed him for that, it was unnecessarily cruel, even by Ardyn's standards. At the time, he was filled with a thrill he didn't recognise, at first, elated by the thought of sating a scientific thirst he never thought he had in him. At the time, he didn't care enough and in all honesty this had scared him more than the Daemonic appearance of an extremely pissed off Ardyn.

It started with an accident, then, not with Prompto going full psychopath, but still, his hand is more still, now and the weapon disappears in his hands with a blue glow.

He wonders how long it will be until he is not allowed to summon it anymore.

“Does it hurt? Me killing Daemons?” Prompto asks, turning his glance to the hopping goblins. They are trying to make a goblin pyramid, now and failing spectacularly.

“Do you refer to my feelings or the constant tearing of my flesh and soul by them?”

He can't see him, but he can hear his arms flailing dramatically. Prompto hides his half-laugh behind an annoyed sound.

“Of course not. Oh, wait, so you do have feelings.”

It's a joke. Ardyn has minuscules expressions, before his dramatic antics, that tell Prompto much more that he wants to know. It's annoying, sometimes, to hate a person so much and, at the same time, to consider all this just friendly banter.

Truth is, he has all the reasons to be bitter with Ardyn. There's a long list of crimes under his name and he didn't exactly have a good time while lost in the snow and facing his own psychotic creator. But still, Prompto is angrier with Fate and the Gods. He is angry because, all in all, he is the same as Ardyn. Just a pawn, a sacrifice to reach a general good ending he doesn't really care anymore of.

The gods, being gods, should be able to fix things without people dying or dissolving into monsters.

“Well, not more than kicking the snow does hurt the Glacian or stepping on it satisfies some of her weird kinks.” it's Ardyn's response.

This time it's a chilling wind that interrupts Prompto's laughter and he shivers for the cold and the panic, pushing the Chancellor away.

“Stop offending Shiva! She will start thinking that I am your friend!” he shrieks, as the older man laughs. He is a monster. Still, he can't help but follow his laughter.

Maybe he is going mad. That's it, that's the answer. He is alone in a barred wasteland and he needs a friendly face. Ardyn is not, but maybe he has a better genetic background for madness.

“Aren't we, though, my little gunman?”

The tone in Ardyn's voice is so strained that Prompto is forced to look at him. Bad move. The man is known for not knowing the meaning of personal space and he is awfully close, now.

Prompto gasps, he can't really help it. And yet, he is not scared, he is painfully aware of the Chancellor breath on his own face, fingers lightly touching Prompto's face and the night seems colder, but he waits, not breathing, looking for an answer.

They are enemies. Nothing can change that. Not the relief he feels in knowing someone definitely care if he dies or not, not the curiosity he feels when he grasps those little expressions the man makes before the actor.

Still he revels in the moment, for a second or two or twelve. Ardyn's eyes are almost glowing in the light of the haven but he is completely still, as he was waiting for him to push away.

He could hurt the man, Prompto realizes, even if only a little, because only a fragment of his soul is still there, shining as the gods runes. That part he can hurt and destroy and it's painful to realize it, it's agonising to think of a way, for a moment, to infer the final blow.

Prompto is a fool, but he is still kind.

“We are nothing but enemies, Your Majesty.”

This. This might the stupidest idea ever. But it works, as Ardyn almost falls down and Prompto can flee up to the haven, where the other can't reach. Still, it's with his heart beating so fast he can hear it in his legs and his stomach in a tight squeeze that he reaches his tent and hides inside.

He will have to face the man again.

Prompto just hopes that his trick won't be his end.

 


End file.
